


All the Things You Are

by busaikko



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: 1950s, Alternate Universe - 1950s, F/M, Jazz - Freeform, Vancouver
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-01
Updated: 2013-07-01
Packaged: 2017-12-16 18:01:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/864972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/busaikko/pseuds/busaikko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vancouver, 1950: When Teyla rescues a man from a Genii gang, she's drawn into the troubles of the Atlantis Supper Club -- which may be connected to the mysterious disappearance of her people.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Right As Rain](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/23988) by Verity. 



> Love to the following people: to Verity, who gave me inspiration via her gorgeous artwork and beta'd the story; to Kate, who was incredibly generous with her time and musical expertise; and to Mific and Neeve, who've held my hand through writer's block. <3 <3 <3

Teyla saw the two zoot suiters shove their mark into the laneway behind the Chinese Students' Athletic Society, and almost wished she could walk on by. She didn't need trouble with the gangs on top of everything else. But the road was deserted, and she did have her knitting in her bag.

She slipped into the alley, keeping close to the wall, one eye on the ground so she didn't kick any empty bottles or papers and give her position away. The man was yelling now, saying they had the wrong guy, that he hadn't done anything. The shorter of the goons popped him a quick one in the shoulder, and Teyla winced. The man knew nothing about self-defense: he took the blow straight on, hiding his hands behind his back even as he yelped in pain.

Teyla reached into her bag. Under the cardigan she was working on, she found her steel needles and slipped them out. She stayed in the shadows as she approached, her senses alert and aware of her surroundings. The alley stank; where tires hadn't worn ruts into the dirt, weeds grew up in fierce rough patches. The sun was going down, and they were beyond the reach of the city's bright neon lights. Teyla was close enough now that she felt danger prickle across her skin.

The goons were slapping the man, taking turns and laughing as his hat slipped to the side, and then fell. Teyla positioned herself, and for a second her eyes met those of the man. She was afraid that he'd shout a warning and give her away, but instead he just raised his voice again, shouting in a voice gone hoarse that okay, he'd do whatever they wanted, just please _stop_.

Teyla moved in, the needles flashing too fast to see as she used them to strike the numbing points hard enough to render their hands temporarily useless. She grabbed one by the hat brim and yanked down, breaking the crown and covering his eyes, and then twisted sideways away from the other as he lunged. With both needles in one hand, she brought them around like a whip while spinning away, catching him along the side of his neck. It must have stung, because he fell back, eyes wild, clumsy hands reaching up as if in terror that she'd just slit his throat. She grabbed his partner and tossed him face-first into the wall. Using both hands, she yanked his jacket down his arms and pulled the tails up through the loop, trapping him.

The man she'd rescued shouted a warning to her, but Teyla felt the other goon's hand snatch a fistful of her jacket before she could evade. She hadn't seen whether he was was carrying heat, but she had no intention of dying, so she assumed he was. She jabbed the heads of the needles in her hand back into his stomach, forcing him to fall back a step, cursing. Ducking, she swept him sideways off his feet. He pulled her down with him, but that was okay; she landed with her knee up to drop her weight on his groin, and his breath all whooshed out in a ragged scream. Teyla scrambled to her feet as he curled up in the dirt. She bound his arms as well, while he made wet angry noises, and patted him down fast. He had a wallet and a gun, both of which she tossed in her bag before turning to the man she'd rescued and holding her right hand out. Her needles were up her left sleeve, hidden from view but accessible in a second.

"Let's go," she said. He looked confused, straightening stiffly from picking his hat up, and she grabbed his hand, pulling him towards the laneway's exit. He stumbled along with her, ungraceful but as determined as she was to escape.

"Where--?" he asked, between breaths.

Teyla didn't know. Off the street and away from eyes, she knew; running pell-mell down the road wasn't a good way to elude attention. At the corner, she pulled him onto the crossroad, taking shelter against the wall. They were in luck, she realized: Marie's apothecary was just down the block. She pulled off the scarf covering her hair so it didn't identify her, and linked arms with the man, leaning close.

"Walk slowly and don't look back," she said. "Who were they? What did they want?"

He was stiff with nerves, but obeyed, taking deep breaths to calm himself. "Genii trouble boys, probably," he said, his voice bitter. "You should get out of here – they don't know who you are, but once they do...."

Teyla laughed, trying to look to others as if he'd told her a good joke. "And you will take care of yourself." She didn't need to add that they both knew he couldn't. She gave his sleeve a tug. "Turn into Wu's, and let me do the talking."

"You like giving orders, don't you?" the man muttered down at her, but he pulled open the shop's door with an impatient wave, the most perfunctory and expedient manners possible. Teyla slipped inside, but immediately peeked out again. She spotted one of the goons immediately, asking questions of a passer-by on the opposite side of the crossroad. Too close for comfort, but they had a few minutes.

"Hello," she said, trying to look as if she hadn't just been fighting in the alley. Her coat was torn and dirt-streaked, she knew; Marie's expression was disapproving, as if Teyla's presence would drive away customers. She straightened, and adjusted her bag. "Would you mind letting us out the back? There are men – Genii gangbangers – they attacked my friend." She indicated the man with her hand, wincing as she got a good look at his face for the first time. His lip was split, and one of his blue eyes was swelling shut, the skin around it bruised. She supposed he was handsome, though his hair was longer than most men wore; he had an expressive face and a kind of restless energy that was currently channeled into alertness as he studied the shop and the merchandise, and Marie, in her starched white smock.

"It's always business with you," Marie said severely. "I never see you unless you have something to trade." She waggled a finger in Teyla's direction. "You disappear."

"I will bring tea next time," Teyla said, fighting the urge to check the street again. "And I will explain, I promise."

"Fine," Marie said, leading the way behind the counter to the storeroom. "I worry about you."

Teyla drew a breath. "I know you do," she said, and gave her a smile. "Your friendship means a lot to me."

Marie was obviously embarrassed, and waved Teyla's words away. "Be careful," she warned, and as soon as they were out the back door and in the alley Teyla heard the loud click of the lock.

Teyla looked around, but they were alone, and the delivery trucks parked haphazard afforded some shelter. She brushed her coat off as best she could, and then beat the dirt from the man's hat before handing it back with teasing solemnity.

"Well, at least you didn't break it," the man said, turning the hat over in his hands before settling it gingerly on his head. "Does it hide the bruises?"

Teyla grimaced, and evaded a direct answer. "They did a number on you."

"I'm a pianist," the man blurted out. He held up his hands, wiggling his fingers. "I didn't want to damage my hands, and it doesn't matter what I look like, really. My name's McKay – Rodney." He looked at her hopefully, as if that was a name she might recognize. She shook her head, and he deflated. "I work at the Atlantis Club."

Teyla blinked. "That's only a few blocks from here."

Rodney rolled his eyes. "It's a lot easier getting to work when no one's trying to ambush and kill you."

Teyla tipped the brim of his hat forward, giving it a rakish angle. "I'll protect you," she said solemnly, half-expecting him to laugh.

Instead, he scowled at her as best he could around his cuts and bruises. "I certainly hope so."

*

Teyla took every precaution during the walk to Lantea Street, as alert as if she were prey being hunted. But no goons leaped out from doorways or screeched their big black cars to a halt next to them on Main Street, and the afternoon crowds bustling along under the signs were uncaring and oblivious.

Teyla had never been in the Atlantis Supper Club, but she was familiar with its Art Deco building, with the gay yellow and orange awning over the entrance-way. The neon sign reading _ATLANTIS_ stood over it, rising the building's two stories in height. The front door was framed by bold geometric stained glass windows, which Teyla thought were lovely with the foyer lights shining through.

Rodney seemed oblivious as he pulled the door open and jerked to a stop, waiting for Teyla to enter.

"Thank you," she murmured, hiding a grin. His manners had all the gracelessness of a child who had had the proper responses drilled into him, but resented having to carry out the actions instead of being at liberty to run off and play. She supposed that might be true even now; perhaps he resented every moment he wasn't making music.

"Hm?" He gave her a brief, confused glance, and then turned to the large man sitting at the club's front desk, thumbing through an issue of Weird Tales. "Ronon."

Ronon grunted, obviously engrossed in his story, but dragged his eyes up and then was on his feet in a flash. He had long hair in thick braids that he tossed back as he looked from Rodney to Teyla, prowling out from behind the desk. His stylish suit was, Teyla thought, meant to distract an observer from how dangerous he was underneath, like a grate holding back a fire.

But Rodney was undaunted, saying dryly, "Fine security you are. This is – " he half turned to Teyla – "I forgot to ask her name, but she saved my life."

"Teyla Emmagan." Teyla extended her hand, and Ronon gave her a perfunctory shake, taking in her scraped knuckles and the bruise forming on her wrist. Up close, he towered over both her and Rodney.

"Stop looming and go find Sheppard," Rodney said. "Were you born in a barn? And get some ice from the kitchen, so I can hopefully keep my eye from swelling shut and end up looking like a Lon Chaney stand-in."

"Go wait in the office," Ronon countered, and gestured impatiently for the cloakroom girl to come and mind the desk for him.

"This way," Rodney said. He indicated the wide staircase to the upper floor. The stair runners were hand-painted with designs in the same orange and yellow scheme; cheaper than carpeting, Teyla supposed, but also beautiful. "The penny tour is, kitchen's beneath us, hence the maddening smell of fresh-baked pastries, and the stage and dance floor and tables are up here." He spread his arms at the top of the stairs, as if claiming credit for the high ceiling, painted in bright geometric designs, and the stained glass partitions that glowed in the light from the chandeliers. The band was already practicing, and Rodney waved off their good-natured ribbing at his lateness. "My colleagues," he added, as if that might not have been clear, and indicated that Teyla should head down the corridor to the right. "The place hasn't changed much since Janus Weir opened the doors back in the thirties," he added apologetically. "Well, of course the music is different, and some of the tablecloths have been replaced. But we like to think that being old-fashioned is part of our charm. No one's clamoring for fake stalactites on the ceiling, thank goodness."

"Don't mock the competition, Mr McKay," a voice called out from the doorway at the end of the hall, followed a moment later by a woman wearing a simple red dress with her hair held back in a simple black snood. Teyla did some fast deducing based on gossip she'd heard, and realized that this must be Weir's young widow – the current owner of his club. "They keep us on our toes." Her voice was warm, almost teasing, and then she caught sight of Rodney's face. "What happened?"

"The Genii again," Rodney answered shortly, walking uninvited into her office and dropping down into one of the chairs set before the big wooden desk. "I think I need a drink. My hands are shaking." He held them up, as if surprised.

"Happens when you get in a fight." Teyla turned quickly – she hadn't heard anyone approaching – and found herself being likewise scrutinized by a tall angular man with hair that rivaled Groucho Marx's for being unkempt. His eyes were sharp, though, and Teyla schooled her expression. "John Sheppard," he said, giving her a nod. "Ronon says you kept McKay from having the stuffing knocked out of him."

"Nice," Rodney muttered.

"I took his gun," Teyla said, and reached for her bag.

Immediately John's hand was around her wrist, immobilizing her.

Rodney sat up straight and said, "Hey," sounding as if this was a personal affront, but Teyla understood.

She looked at him, willing him to keep quiet, and said, "Rodney. If your friend would be so kind as to remove the gun and wallet in my bag, I'm sure we'll get over this... awkwardness." She paused, and then added to John, "But please leave my knitting needles. I'm making a cardigan."

"Knitting needles," Rodney repeated, his entire posture exuding incredulity. "What are you knitting, steel wool?" But he made an impatient gesture at John, who slid Teyla's bag off her arm gingerly.

"I'm sorry," Elizabeth said, sounding sincere. "But we've had call recently to take security very seriously." She watched John walk over to the desk, set Teyla's bag down, and squint suspiciously inside. "Let me take your coat," Elizabeth continued, and then bit her lower lip in consternation. "To hang up, that is," and she gestured to the rack behind the door, where her own coat hung. Behind her, John was setting the wallet and the handgun down. He took out Teyla's steel needles and raised both his eyebrows at her, but returned them to her bag without comment.

Teyla unbuttoned her coat, and handed it to Elizabeth with as much composure as she could manage, despite her certainty that she was dirty from the fight and her hair was wildly askew. Elizabeth made no comment, acting for all the world as if Teyla's thin cloth coat was not out of place next to her own one of soft wool.

"Here you are," John said. He held the bag out, and Teyla collected it primly. He gave her an embarrassed smile. "Sorry." John removed the ammunition from the gun with swift military ease before setting it aside and taking up the wallet. "Looks like he's got about two dollars and change to his name." He tugged out the stiff paper of a photograph, the corners bent and starting to tear. "And a pretty girl." He proffered the photo to Rodney. "Is that the guy?"

Rodney squinted through his good eye, shook his head, and handed the picture to Teyla. "I can't tell. Teyla saw him the best. While doing her professional wrestling moves."

"Wrestling actually forbids what I did," Teyla said, and let her tone convey her meaning. Rodney and John winced simultaneously; Elizabeth covered her mouth with her hand, but her eyes danced with amusement. Teyla studied the photograph: a handsome man with too much pomade in his dark hair, his arm around the waist of a woman, fair hair in severe victory rolls and wearing a no-nonsense shirtwaist dress. 

Teyla knew her.

She took a deep breath to steady herself against the flood of emotions that rose up.

When they'd met, Teyla knew Sora as the daughter of Reverend Tyrus. The two of them were traveling through Alberta to bring the word of the Lord to soldiers returning from the war. They set their tent up just outside Athos, offering prayer meetings and blessing breakfasts. Teyla had gone – everyone had gone – and had been moved by the hymns Sora sang, accompanying herself on guitar, and the Reverend's passionate sermons. He spoke as if he understood war and soldiers, and he talked openly about what Teyla had thought was a secret, her community's shame: how some of the young men who'd gone to war returned home sound in body but sick in their souls, short-tempered and restless, simmering with anger.

Teyla had grown up with Kanaan. They'd both lost their parents to the influenza outbreak that had devastated Athos and the surrounding towns, but Charin had taken them in and raised them like they were her own children. Before he'd gone to war, everyone had assumed Teyla and Kanaan would marry; even Teyla herself had come to think so. But she'd returned home stronger after years in Calgary doing wartime factory work, and Kanaan had been... changed by the war. Had become a stranger to her.

Reverend Tyrus held special Bible readings with the young men, while Sora served tea and refreshments. Kanaan was different afterward, calmer and gentle, kind to Charin and shy with Teyla. That week of prayers had felt like a blessing, and Teyla had truly believed that the Reverend had the power to heal.

She had wanted to believe.

But when Sora and her father had been gone not even a month, things were worse than before. Kanaan's restlessness and anger frightened her. When she woke one morning to frantic pounding on her door and the news that Kanaan and seven other returned soldiers had left, the first emotion Teyla felt was relief. She'd worried something terrible would happen, and now she was free of that fear hanging over her.

The men had sold everything they could to finance their train fare west – all the way to Vancouver, the stationmaster had claimed. They left behind wives and children, jobs, cows needing to be milked, debts. Teyla took care of Charin, but the old woman's heart had been broken. She grew weaker, and one morning did not awake.

Teyla used the last of her money to travel to Vancouver herself. She wanted to find Kanaan and...

...on days she felt charitable, she simply wanted to tell him how much harm he'd inflicted on people who had loved him and trusted him, and make him burn with guilt – 

...but more and more often, she had no charity in her heart: she wanted to knock him down, and kick him where he lay, and do the same to the Reverend Tyrus and his sweet-faced daughter who lured good men away from their homes with false promises and lies.

She didn't realize how stricken she must have looked, until she felt Rodney's hands on her arms, and heard him insisting that she sit down in the chair he'd vacated – quickly, before she fell over and bashed her head in.

Teyla didn't know how to respond to the rush of clumsy well-meaning words; she had no words of her own to explain the state her mind was in. So she sat, and Elizabeth urged her to drink tea, and when Teyla reached for the cup she realized she was still holding the photograph. She dropped it on the desk with a shudder, and flicked it away with her finger.

"It's nerves," John said quietly, trying to keep Rodney from ringing for a doctor. "Trust me on this."

"Except this isn't the South Pacific, this is Vancouver, and she's not one of your Army buddies – "

Teyla interrupted. "I am fine. It's nothing. I just..." She took another sip of her tea, willing herself to calm. "I have been looking for her for some time. She is... not a good person."

"Oh," Rodney said, picking the picture up and scrutinizing it. "I thought she was, you know. His girl, or his sister."

"Would she not be important even if she was?" Teyla asked, more sharply than she intended. She set the cup down and turned so she was facing them all. "I had a childhood friend, and this woman and her father persuaded him to abandon his family and his people. In the note he left he said there was a promised land, but I have not found any such place in all my weeks of searching. Nor have I found either Sora or the Reverend Tyrus. Until now." 

"Tyrus," Elizabeth repeated, and went quickly to her desk, unlocking the top drawer and removing a large manilla envelope. "Michalis Tyrus?" She took out a newspaper clipping and slid it across the desk.

The headline read _Genii Mobster Found Guilty_ , and the accompanying photograph showed Reverend Tyrus being led from the courtroom, face suffused and half-turned away.

"He sold opium?" Teyla asked in disbelief, scanning the accompanying paragraphs quickly. "Why would he do that?" Nowhere in the article did it mention his preaching, his followers, or Sora Tyrus.

Elizabeth shrugged helplessly. "Money, as I understand it. He came here twice in the month before his arrest, wanting to buy this club. He was very... insistent. I told him no."

"Thank you for that, by the way," Rodney said, a bit muffled by the wet towel he was holding to his face while John dabbed iodine on the cuts and taped cotton over them. "Wouldn't that have been a delight, being used as a front for criminal dealings. We'd probably all have ended up in prison. I wouldn't see a keyboard for fifteen to life."

"Fortunately for you," Elizabeth said dryly, "I'm not running the club to make my fortune." She smiled at Teyla. "I know it sounds odd, but my husband left me enough to live on. His only request was that I continue his dream of creating a center for musical innovation across race lines. So selling is the last thing I'd do." Teyla wondered just how much money Elizabeth was talking about. She was familiar with the concept of self-sufficiency, but to her it implied a good-sized farm, an education that started in the cradle, and reliable weather without drought and blizzards. "However, since Tyrus' arrest, there have been several disturbing incidents which I don't think I'd be wrong to call acts of intimidation. Deliveries not arriving. Fights started with customers." She spread her hands. "Mr Sheppard and Mr Dex have been on guard twenty-four hours a day all this month, and now my employees are attacked in broad daylight." She looked down. "I feel sometimes as if we're under siege. But I refuse to let fear drive me out of business."

"I knew nothing of this," Teyla said, her head whirling with information. "I'm sorry."

Elizabeth nodded, and gave Teyla a wry smile. "You should come – if you like music, that is. We're not quite Harlem, but we do have some big names play here regularly."

"I haven't had time to visit any of the clubs here," Teyla said, trying to make her words not sound like a rejection. "But perhaps when I have time – " _and money to spend freely_ , she did not say "– I will come here again. During the war," she added, a little wistfully, "when I was working in Calgary, the girls and I used to go out dancing every Saturday night."

Rodney made a strangled noise, and Teyla glanced at him. "Popular music," he said, enunciating as if speaking a curse. "Trite, treacly, and tedious."

"Ah," Elizabeth said, quickly cutting Rodney off. She gave Teyla a warm, apologetic smile. "Musicians are temperamental. Some more than others." She raised an eyebrow at Rodney, who looked nearly vindicated, as if she'd just praised him highly. "The other band members will be eating dinner now – " Teyla had noticed that the instruments had gone suddenly silent; now she knew why "– but I'm sure Rodney will be happy to play for you while I have your meal prepared. On the house," she added, ignoring Rodney's parroting of _happy?_. "Because Rodney _is_ a brilliant, and he could have been very badly hurt today, if not for your bravery."

Teyla inclined her head. "I did what anyone would have."

Elizabeth stood, and Teyla followed suit, assuming the meeting was finished. "For which we are all very grateful."

"Make him play ragtime," John told Teyla conspiratorially, giving her a grin as he held the door open. "Nothing he likes better."

"You've got _like_ and _loathe_ mixed up again," Rodney said. "Knucklehead." He looked at Teyla, and then gestured with one hand that she should follow him. She did, and once they were in the corridor he sighed and said, "I really am very, very glad you happened by. And had your knitting with you. Sheppard brings out the worst in me. He's American."

"Ah," Teyla said, not sure what that had to do with anything. "As is Charlie Parker, I believe." 

Rodney sighed. "I've played with Charlie Parker. Nice kid – except for the drug habit. I went back to New York after the war and tried to get into the scene again. Worked on a couple of records with Dizzy Gillespie, Thelonious Monk, Max Roach, if those names ring a bell. Was nearly a household name myself. And then I let my mouth deep-six my career." He turned right into the main room of the club, and walked a straight line through the tables, as if pulled magnetically towards the piano on the stage. "I got into an argument with Mary Lou Williams about a friend of hers. Said some... unforgivable things, and the kicker was, she was right, I was wrong, and that was that." He shrugged. "She and I correspond, now. We're colleagues. But we probably won't be friends again. I... I regret that."

Teyla had no idea what to say to that. "So you came to Vancouver to start over?"

Rodney looked over his shoulder at her, as if confused. "I had to keep playing," he said simply. "I had to find a place I could do that. Plus my sister lives here with her husband, and they were willing to rent me an attic room." He sighed. "My sister is _also_ a pianist, but doesn't understand the first thing about modern jazz. I have to remember to not insult her on a regular basis."

"I'm sure she appreciates the effort," Teyla said dryly. "Where would you go then?"

"Sheppard tells me there's a pretty happening scene in Japan these days," Rodney said morosely, and Teyla was torn between laughter and sympathy.

"I want to hear the music that you consider your best," Teyla said, trying to be diplomatic about changing the subject. "The reason Mrs Weir praises you so highly."

"Ah," Rodney said. He came to a sudden stop, and Teyla barely managed not to walk into him. He crossed his arms, studying the tables, and then pointed to one right at the edge of the dance floor. "You should sit there. Best seat in the house. We have incredible acoustics – Mr Weir designed this space himself, and was planning to record LPs here – _Live at Atlantis_ , that kind of thing. Which is why Elizabeth hired me, despite my professional reputation." He looked at Teyla, mouth pinched into an unhappy slant. "I designed and deployed recording equipment for the government during the war. "

Teyla gave him a stern look. "Are we comparing tales of hardship? I keep Canadian Pacific trains running on safe tracks, with properly-maintained engines." She lifted her chin and stared him down.

"Ha." He appeared to be taken aback. Teyla waited patiently; she knew she was right. "Yes. You have a point. Okay. Obviously near death makes me babble. I should probably." He nodded firmly, and stepped forward to pull Teyla's chair out for her. She sat, and he hovered for a moment, as if unsure of whether there was anything else good manners required from him, before giving up and heading for the stage.

The piano was bigger than any Teyla had ever seen, sleek and black with broad silver bands around the side that caught the light from the chandeliers. Rodney started playing as soon as he sat down, startling Teyla with a tinny mechanical rendition of By the Beautiful Sea that slowly built in complexity until it was completely transformed, filling the room with what reminded Teyla of a great storm, unstoppable and terrifying. As the music continued, she could almost hear the wind and a swaying repetition – and realized Rodney must be playing the sound of wind-lashed waves, the beautiful sea churned into a tempest. She leaned forward, arms on the table, trying to catch all the hidden meanings Rodney was weaving from the music.

She didn't want the song to end, but suddenly Rodney's playing softened and lightened, like the sun coming out and the sky clearing, the heavy storm blowing away and the perfect player-piano tune reappearing. Teyla smiled, feeling as if she'd been taken on a journey.

When the last notes faded away, Rodney cleared his throat as if embarrassed and said apologetically, "I hope that isn't your favorite song. I, ah, I enjoy taking things apart. And improving them."

"That was _lovely_." Teyla smiled. "I should ask you to play the most dreadful things I know, so you can turn them inside out and make them jive."

Rodney looked startled, and then gave Teyla a conspiratorial grin in return. "You'll need a strong foundation in _good_ music first, so you can better appreciate my efforts." He let his fingers wander, little fragments of melodies that flowed one into the other, as if he was testing and discarding ideas. "This ring a bell?"

It didn't, but Teyla was content. Not waiting for – or perhaps not expecting – her answer, Rodney was already intent on the music, this time weaving together a slow series of gentle patterns that slipped past each other like the colored beads in a kaleidoscope. She tried to imagine words to fit, but none did; like a lullaby, the music seemed to be wandering in and out of dreams.

She was so enraptured that she did not notice the approach of the woman bearing a serving tray until the edge of the tray was set on the table and the woman started placing dishes before her. A bowl of clear soup on a saucer; a plate with two slices of roast beef, carrot medallions, and peas; a miniature loaf of bread, still warm from the oven.

"Thank you," Teyla said, as the woman set out cutlery as well. She glanced over at Rodney, who was scowling but not misplacing a single intricate note. "Won't Mr McKay be joining me?"

The woman shook her head, her cheeks dimpling as she smiled. "When he's playing he doesn't need anything else. But I expect he'll have something once the police get here."

Teyla set down the napkin she'd been picking up, her mouth going dry. "The police?"

"This terrible business with the Genii," the woman said, her voice dropping. "Mrs Weir is very concerned."

"Yes," Teyla said automatically. "Quite terrible." She set her fingertips along the edge of the table, holding herself still. "Can you tell me where the ladies' room is?"

"Oh yes." The woman tucked her now-empty tray under her arm and stepped back. "I'll show you, miss."

Teyla accepted the offer with a smile, and hoped it looked natural for her to slip her bag over her arm, and not overly suspicious. She tipped the girl five cents at the washroom door and slipped inside, feeling calmer once the door was shut and she was alone.

She wanted to hear the end of Rodney's piece, and felt a pang for how he'd feel when he stopped playing and found he was alone. But she did not want to talk to the police: not when she had no friends or family in the city – or perhaps, she thought, a little despairingly, anywhere – to stand up for her. She had, after all, beaten two white men to the ground.

The washroom had a tall, narrow window at the far end, and though nails had been put in the frame to keep it from opening all the way, Teyla's steel needles were very useful for simple tasks like that. Once she had the window open, she slipped out, holding to the side of the building and walking sideways along the ledge on her toes, moving very carefully over to the fire escape. She refused to allow herself to think about the drop below her. From the safety of the fire escape it was easy to climb to the alley below. She regretted leaving her coat behind, but she was free.

She straightened her shoulders, took a deep breath, and walked away from Atlantis. She was hungry, and she thought wistfully of the dinner she'd abandoned, but she kept going, heading north towards her rooming house. The room she shared was plain and cold, but through the window, past the railyard and rows of rotting clapboard houses, she could see the swell of the North Shore mountains across the harbor. The view eased her heart, like an echo of her home, and she heard piano notes, now, entangled in the dark water leading out to sea.


	2. Chapter 2

Armed with her new knowledge, Teyla refused to allow herself to be distracted by pointless wishes. She would have liked to stay and listen to Rodney's music, which like the man himself refused to fade into the background, instead demanding her full attention and a quick alertness of mind. She'd felt comforted and comfortable at the Atlantis club. Rodney had true friends, and Teyla envied him. But for all that she'd been made welcome, Teyla knew she did not belong there. She had a mission, and until she found her people her own desires were secondary.

Now that she had information about Tyrus, she could visit the library and read in the newspapers about the trial. Many former officers in the Genii army had fought alongside the Russians, believing that after the war Stalin would return their homeland to autonomous rule. That had not happened. Genia remained under Soviet rule, and the inaction of the United States and Britain drove the Genii independence movement underground. In Canada, a network of gangs and criminal activity was connected to the Genii independence movement; one newspaper had editorialized that Tyrus considered himself a patriot.

But Tyrus had kept silent throughout his trial, refused to comment on his sentencing, and still kept his secrets behind prison walls.

Teyla hated the idea of walking into a prison. She told herself that she was brave, and found out from the woman in the house across the alleyway whose son at the Penitentiary how to get an interview.

On the twentieth of the month she put on her Sunday dress and the hat and gloves she'd borrowed from the girl who shared her room, and took the streetcar out to New Westminster. She walked into the prison office prepared to explain herself, but the man at the front desk simply glanced over her letter and then pointed to the adjoining corridor. There were two rows of wooden benches facing a blank whitewashed wall; Teyla was half an hour early, he said, and would have to wait.

She sat at the far end and took out her knitting. As the minutes dragged on, more people collected on the benches: men who had trouble keeping to their seats, elderly women wrapped up against the bite in the spring winds, a couple of other girls around her age, one of them pregnant. No one spoke. Teyla let her needles dance on, turning drab wool into a sturdy pair of socks.

Exactly on the hour, names were called, and interview rooms were assigned. There was a long wide desk dividing the room, with five chairs on either side. Tyrus was seated in the second seat from the right. Teyla's heart skipped a beat, but she made sure not to show her emotions on her face.

Teyla had wondered whether he would talk to her; if he could look her in the eyes and if he would attempt to justify what he had done. She was sorry for the Genii refugees who'd lost everything, but could not forgive Tyrus for having the arrogance to perpetuate the same, taking away her home and her people.

"Hello," she said, and smiled. "I'm Annie Taylor, from the Prisoner's Aid Society." She had her bag on her lap, and took out Charin's leather-bound Bible. The guard by the door stepped up to examine it, but handed it back when he found nothing more remarkable than the many thin bookmarks marking Charin's favorite verses. "I'm here to bring you the word of the Lord."

Tyrus bowed his head, so for a long moment she only had a view of his wrinkled forehead and thinning hair. But then he raised his face and nodded at her once. "I don't usually have visitors," he said. His voice was thinner than she remembered, stripped of confidence. "I think perhaps you have answered my prayers."

Teyla kept one hand on the Bible and breathed her anger out. Tyrus must have sensed her mood, because his face clouded. He looked sorrowed; by guilt, Teyla wondered, or perhaps just by circumstances.

"I am just a girl from the country," she said, aware of the men sitting to either side of her, and those across the table, and the guard. She didn't know if any of them were there for the purpose of overhearing her conversation. If Tyrus was, as she suspected, keeping his silence to protect Sora, he would be attuned to what lay behind the words spoken. "But I understand what it's like to be alone and friendless." She let her fingers guide her to Matthew, and read, "There is nothing covered that shall not be revealed," continuing down the page to conclude with, "I came not to send peace, but a sword."

Tyrus looked at her expectantly, as if he expected an interpretation or a sermon. Teyla gave him neither; he should know full well how the rest of the passage read. "A fork in the road," Tyrus murmured. "A decision. To put your faith in what you see and know, family and friends, or to risk everything for the savior."

"Has the familiar path you chose to take served you well?" Teyla asked, and he huffed out a bitter laugh. She leaned forward minutely. "Then let me help you."

Tyrus patted his palms against the table, as if trying to come to a decision, and then gave her a quick tight smile. "Deuteronomy 6," he requested. When Teyla reached the part about the land _flowing with milk and honey_ , he put his hands together almost as if clapping and murmured, "Amen."

"Amen," Teyla echoed, and very carefully moved a bookmark to note the passage. Tyrus gave her a nod of approval, and gestured for her to go on. He was sparing with his interjections, and Teyla committed each to memory: the mention of a house with pillars and a gate, the house of bondage, the mention of a jealous God. He was particularly insistent that Teyla remember the words the father was bidden to tell his son; she repeated each injunction twice.

Out in the corridor, a buzzer sounded, and the guard roused himself from blank-faced boredom to announce that only five minutes remained.

Tyrus wove his fingers together and shut his eyes. "Zechariah 6."

So Teyla read about the heavenly spirits God sent to the earth, and her voice didn't waver even as she read, "Behold, these that go toward the north country have quieted my spirit in the north country," and Tyrus gave her another quiet _amen_ as she read about freeing captives and building a temple.

At Tyrus' insistence, she finished her interview with the twentieth Psalm, both of them reciting from memory, the words Tyrus spoke subtly different and with a foreign lilt. Teyla imagined him learning the prayer as a child in Genia, in his own language, before the Soviets cut him off from his homeland and people. Even Tyrus, she supposed, had been innocent once. Even Sora, she thought, as the visitors were ejected from the interview rooms, had to be understood to act not only from the love of her people but – even more so – of her father.

Teyla only vaguely remembered her own father, but she had seen with her own eyes how Sora respected Tyrus and believed him right. She moved in the group towards the iron gates being held for them, feeling the afternoon sun on her face with relief. She made it all the way outside the prison walls before starting to shake in reaction.

She told herself that it was because she was not used to lying.

She did not think Tyrus had been lying to her. He'd been worried – scared – but for Sora, not for himself. Perhaps he thought Teyla, being female, would be sympathetic. Or perhaps he had no friends he trusted. Whatever threat had been made against Sora had been enough that he'd willingly allowed himself to be imprisoned, and he still kept his silence – though now she thought he was starting to feel doubt and fear, that those who'd promised to keep Sora safe would honor their word.

Teyla remembered his face flushed with passion as he preached. He'd seemed so sure. Now when she recalled the prayer meetings the returned soldiers had attended, and the tea Sora had served, she thought about the articles on opium she'd read at the library. It was said to induce a joyful state of mind and ease pain, in return for a lifetime of addiction. 

Tyrus had not sent his daughter away, and Teyla wondered if that was because she couldn't, Perhaps she was caught in the same trap – orchestrated to manipulate her father into cooperation.

She had a constant prickle at the back of her neck as she made her way home, as if someone was watching her. But she was careful and stayed alert, telling herself even as she slipped through alleys that it was just her own fears. Once she was home and had had a supper of soup and crackers, she took advantage of her roommate's absence to address her feelings the way Charin had taught her as a child, when Teyla had been prone to sudden fits of anger or unhappiness.

She lit a single candle, set it in the center of the room's chest of drawers, and sat on her bed with her legs crossed, facing the flame. She took deep breaths while emptying her head of all distracting thoughts, and watched the flame until its small strong light had filled the room and pushed away the evening gloom. Unbidden, she heard Rodney's music again, only now realizing that playing had been his way of exorcising his fears, defining them with rhythm and weaving them into melodies, and then breaking them down into nothing. She let the music and the light intertwine in her head until a kind of peace stole over her, as if the presences of the people she had loved were as close and untouchable as the far-off mountains. Her fear and loneliness were still part of her, but she remembered what Charin had told her: she had the light inside her to keep her true. She would find Sora – Tyrus had given her much to work with – and then Kanaan and the others.

She blew out the candle and settled down for the night, sleep washing over her the instant her head met the pillow. She woke with a light heart and an errant tune stuck in her head. The sun was just rising, and there were already shouts from the train yard over the rush of wheels and the squeal of brakes.

Teyla looked out at the clear sky and felt like she had to get out of the city, had to feel new grass between her toes and smell the warm dirt. Less, she suspected, a sudden passion for spring than a need to erase the feel of the penitentiary's high stone walls all around her. She needed to earn money to live, and she preferred to use the skills she had at living off the land. She could and did wash dishes and iron shirts, and she'd done enough track work and engine maintenance for the Canadian Pacific Railroad during the war that she could work there, if they ever hired women again. But on a gorgeous spring day, where she wanted to be was outside.

She had some simple tools and some gathering sacks with wide shoulder straps, and went as far north as she could get by bus. Past the few scattered houses the road narrowed to a dirt trail winding along a creek, and she found herself in a green meadow, the air full of bees and butterflies. She hummed to herself all morning as she walked and gathered greens: dandelions and stinging nettles, chickweed and bitter cress, the tough leaves and roots of yellow dock, plantain and elder flower. She collected enough for herself with plenty more to sell, uprooting some young plants carefully and setting them in cardboard boxes so they could be potted and raised for harvest.

She ate her lunch sitting on a grassy slope overlooking a tiny, perfect, hidden lake, and headed back just as the sun passed its highest point. 

She studied every house the bus passed as it rolled down from the North Shore to the city. She was looking for pillars and a gate, idly, even though she knew the house must be out of the way, hidden somehow. As they passed over the bridge, she wondered if Rodney would be pleased to know that his music was accompanying her. She wished she knew what it was called. She hadn't heard about any further troubles at the Atlantis Supper Club, despite keeping her ear out; but if the goons and whoever employed them were still at large, then she doubted they'd simply given up. She hoped Rodney and all the people she'd met and who had been kind to her were safe and well.

At the stop nearest Pender Street Teyla pulled the cord, got off, and made her rounds to the greengrocer's, the cafe which advertised home-cooking, and the pharmacy. She was known in all the shops now, and the haggling was perfunctory, leading easily into friendly conversation and gossip. She emptied two of her sacks and made nearly half of one week's rent; the rest she carried carefully through Chinatown to Marie's shop.

The front room was empty, but the bells over the door rang merrily and Marie called out something from the back. Teyla didn't know if it was a greeting or an admonishment that the shop was closed – she only spoke a scant handful of Chinese words, mostly the names of dishes she enjoyed eating. So she set her bag on the floor in front of the counter and stretched her arms backwards, shoulders popping as she rolled them. Her muscles were pleasantly tired from the morning's work, and she was still warm from the sun.

The door to the back room was pulled open, and Marie edged out sideways, arms piled high with boxes. "Teyla!" she said, and flashed her a quick smile. "You're late. Help me put these away, and we'll have tea."

Teyla took the top boxes and set them under the counter as directed, trying her best to match the characters on the lids to those on the paper labels pasted above the shelf.

"I was out gathering today," Teyla said, by way of explanation. "I thought you might like some plants."

"We always sell everything you bring us." Marie tucked the last of her boxes away, giving it a pat before standing. "Not everyone can afford medicine from China, and there are those who say we're Canadians now, we should live like Canadians." She gestured with the back of her hand. "Show me what you have."

They spend a good half hour talking about the plants and herbs, Marie taking notes on medicinal properties and nibbling gently on the leaves, and Teyla asking whether the same plants grew and were used in China. Marie fetched pottery planters down from the upstairs storeroom, deftly taking each already-wilting plant and tucking it neatly into rich damp earth. She paid Teyla generously, as she always did, and signaled the end of business with a cup of dark, fragrant tea.

"Your Mr McKay has come by three times," Marie said, settling on the stool behind the counter and waving Teyla at the folding chair. She leaned forward and pulled out a parcel wrapped in brown paper, setting it on the counter. "He returned your coat." She raised her eyebrows at Teyla. "He was very insistent that I understand nothing untoward happened. I told him if he ever hurt you, I know a hundred untraceable poisons."

Teyla tried to hide her surprise, but her hand strayed out to touch the package before she could check the gesture. The paper crinkled; the knots on the string holding it together were sturdy and strong. She didn't believe in fate or signs, but she had been thinking about Rodney all day, and now she found he had been thinking of her. It was unsettling.

"You read too much Agatha Christie," Teyla said, teasing gently. "You probably horrified him. He's a good person. He played the piano for me – it was lovely."

Marie shrugged and curled her hands around her teacup. "He said you jumped out a window to get away from him. The second and third times he came, he was so worried you hadn't been by that he made _me_ wonder if you were all right."

"I'm sorry." Teyla felt helpless; she wasn't used to having anyone care about her whereabouts.

Marie waved this off. "He also asked about Genii gangs. Whether they made any trouble in Chinatown." She tapped her finger on the counter to get Teyla's undivided attention. "I asked around – not for his sake, for yours. I hear that the Genii sell Chinese opium in the U.S. – or they did, until recently. But Timothy Chow's landlord sold the building to a Genii man half a year ago." She picked up the receipt pad by the abacus and a pencil, printing a name in block letters. _A CASTUS KOLYA_. "I had to think back, but I knew I knew that name. A man named Kolya bought the corner store that used to be _here_ , when the Japanese were selling what they could before being sent to the camps." She sketched a tiny map on the reverse of the paper, and put an X at the location. "Tommy lives down the road. And this is the Atlantis club."

There were now three Xs, and Teyla saw the pattern. "Is he buying the entire block?"

Marie handed her the paper. "Perhaps. I'm glad I'm closer to Pender _Gai_. This wooden building would burn very well, if my refusal wasn't accepted."

Teyla knew nothing about the value of land in dollars. But she suspected that if one owner controlled such a large, consolidated piece right in the center of the East Side, it couldn't be good. And especially not if the owner was connected to the Genii gangs and drug dealers.

"I need to talk with Mr McKay," Teyla said, not letting herself think too hard about it. She needed to pass on information; if thinking about Rodney filled her head with musical memories, that was simply a distraction.

"Mrs Chow next door has a telephone," Marie said, standing briskly and brushing the dirt still on her hands off on her apron, as if everything had been decided. "Let's go."

Teyla was about to protest that it was not that easy – but perhaps it was. Perhaps her greatest obstacle was her own fear.

Marie took her hand, and Teyla allowed herself to be led. Mrs Chow, a plump older woman, had a tailor shop, with bolts of fabric stacked along one wall and a well-dressed mannequin standing like a guard in the middle of the room. The telephone was set in an alcove by the door. Teyla wasn't accustomed to making calls, but Mrs Chow gave her instructions, hovering at her elbow until the operator put the call through.

A man answered the telephone at Atlantis, deep voice gruff and suspicious. Teyla did not think it was Rodney.

"This is Teyla Emmagan," she said, speaking slowly. "I wish to speak with Mr Rodney McKay."

There was a pause, and then the man said, "I met you. I'm Dex – long hair?" He cleared his throat. "You safe?"

Teyla felt a chill go down her back. Even if Charin hadn't taught her to be observant, a greeting like that could only be bad news.

"I'm fine." She gripped the heavy handset tightly. "Is it Rodney? Has something happened?"

Dex cut her off with an angry-sounding, "Nah," but then quickly apologized. "Sorry. Someone grabbed Sheppard and sent a letter with demands."

Teyla straightened. "Is it Kolya? If it is, Mrs Weir mustn't sell Atlantis." Across the room, Marie's conversation with Mrs Chow stopped abruptly, and then continued in rapid-fire whispers.

Dex uttered a curse under his breath. "It's Sheppard's life."

"Once Kolya owns the land, letting Sheppard live would be foolish."

Dex burst out with an overly-loud "Hey," and Teyla heard a muffled struggle and a thump, as if the receiver had been dropped.

"Teyla – where are you?" Teyla smiled; that was Rodney on the line, brusqueness not hiding his concern. "How do you know Kolya?"

"I know of him," she corrected. "I know what he's doing, though I don't know why."

Rodney huffed, as if she was trying to annoy him deliberately by splitting hairs. "Can I come pick you up by car? The phone – Kolya's going to be calling at three, and we have to give him an answer."

"We think he needs to buy all the properties on that block," she said quickly. "Perhaps he has a buyer – but there can be no sale if he can't deliver."

"So he's desperate." Rodney sounded grim. "So are we. Elizabeth's meeting with her lawyer now."

"That's good," Teyla said. "Or rather, that will look good, to anyone watching. If they can put on a show of being busy, of complying, but instead drag their heels as much as possible – "

"Yes," Rodney interrupted. "I need to hang up, I'll pass that on."

"I'm at Marie's," Teyla said. "I'll be waiting."

"Fifteen minutes," Rodney promised, and the line went dead.


	3. Chapter 3

Rodney arrived to the minute exactly, tumbling out of the door of an enormous motor car as soon as it braked at the curb. His fedora was askew and his jacket and trousers were mismatched and rumpled, but as soon as he straightened he gave off the strong impression that he knew what he was doing, and was impatient to be getting on with it.

Teyla hugged Marie goodbye. Rodney looked a little crestfallen when she walked past him without hugging him hello. She peered in to see who was in the back seat: Ronon, arms crossed, looking murderous. On the seat next to him sat a large wooden box, fitted with brass latches and a handle.

"Portable recording device," Rodney said, sounding pleased as he held the rear door for her, slamming it once she was settled. He walked around to the driver's seat and put the car in gear, pulling out into the road with confidence that didn't quite match his skill. "I get brilliant ideas in the middle of the night, so I built myself this. I sit down at the piano, turn the machine on, and it captures every note perfectly. At least until the fellow next door starts hammering on the wall." He shrugged, slowing the car at the intersection before steering wide to the right. "That's what I did during the war. Worked with radio, the German Magnetophon, of course, radar. Electronics are very much like music – it's all numbers and patterns – though even the most tedious popular dance song is probably not going to kill you." His voice trailed off.

"Kolya broke John's arm," Ronon said, emphasizing each word like a threat. "I don't think Miss Emmagan wants to hear your recording of John screaming."

"The important thing," Rodney said, changing the subject, his voice gone a little higher, "is that the girl on the switchboard told us where Kolya's call originated. She gave us the address."

Teyla frowned. "That doesn't make sense."

Rodney heaved a sigh and started to explain how telephones worked.

"No." Teyla snapped the word out. She half-turned to Ronon. "Kolya would not be so stupid as to give away his location. You'd alert the police."

"He said he'd know if we called copper. Probably pays someone off. Can't risk it." Ronon looked down at his hands, clenched into fists. "You think he's on the move? Hard, with a prisoner. Sheppard'll run, if he can. Maybe even if he can't," he added, and grimaced.

Teyla's mind was blank, but there was an idea forming on the very edge of her consciousness. "The operator... what was her name?"

Rodney took one hand off the wheel to cut through the air dramatically. "Who cares? If it's important to you, _you_ can play the recording." He sounded dubious. "It's pretty brutal."

Ronon said, sharply, "It was Queens, or Prince. Like a playing card."

Teyla took a deep breath to calm her racing heart. She heard in her head Tyrus speaking the words of the Psalm: _The Lord hear thee in the day of trouble_... _Save, Lord: let the king hear us when we call._

Trusting that Tyrus had been telling her the truth, she said, "You were talking to Sora Tyrus. She fed you false information, so you'd go to the wrong place – perhaps a trap." She paused, and then smiled, feeling like she'd caught the scent of prey. "But you know where she is. How fast can you drive?"

"Fast enough," Rodney said, grimly. He pulled over to the side of the road, watched for an opening in the traffic, and then swung the car around in a tight arc, heading west, back the way they'd come. "Dex – I need a quarter for the bridge toll."

Ronon produced one from his waistcoat pocket and handed it over silently.

The car had just entered Stanley Park when Rodney burst out, "How can you be sure?"

"I spoke to her father," Teyla said. "Yesterday, in prison." She thought about how to phrase it. "He was afraid of speaking straight – afraid if anyone thought he was squealing, they'd hurt his daughter. She's why he allowed himself to take the fall for that opium raid. We read the Bible together. He used to be a preacher," she added. "When I knew him." Ronon made a disgusted noise. "He told me – or I think he did – that the Genii captives are being held in the north, on a farm. The main house has a gate, and pillars. And there might be religious quotes on placards, but I'm not sure about that."

"We find the bird," Ronon growled, deep in his throat, "she'll tell us anyway. How much time do we have?"

"Kolya gave Elizabeth two hours before his next call." He stretched his arm out so he could see his watch, trying to read it and not drive off the road. "Plenty of time, if Sora cooperates."

Ronon nodded. Teyla didn't see him move, but suddenly he was holding a hunting knife. The edge looked razor-sharp and cruel.

"I believe the Genii are trying to fund a rebellion against the Soviets," Teyla said, very quietly. Ronon would have to strain to hear, and that would make him listen, or so she hoped. "They consider themselves patriots saving their homeland, and that justifies the crimes, the lies and deceit. Sora... may believe that even dying for the cause is noble and honorable. After all, even her father allowed himself to be sacrificed, and she admires him greatly. Or she used to."

"He knows his life won't be worth a plug nickel if he rats out the rest of the gang," Ronon said darkly, but Teyla saw him return the knife carefully to a sheath under his jacket.

Rodney pulled in to the first service station after they'd crossed the Lion's Head Bridge and got out to ask the attendant for directions. Teyla unlatched and lifted the lid of the recording device carefully. She'd thought that it would be similar to a phonograph, with a disk and a stylus set at the top, but instead the wooden panel on top was set with dials that controlled some hidden mechanism inside.

"How does it work?" she asked, curious, and then at Ronon's unguarded expression of dismay, added gently, "I don't want to hear Mr Sheppard suffering."

Ronon shrugged. "There's a magnetic tape that goes around bobbins, and sounds get written on it. McKay says this tape can hold a couple hours."

Teyla tried to picture this. "It sounds... complicated."

"A lot of things are," Ronon muttered, and turned away from her to look out the window.

Rodney came back full of nervous tension, like he was preparing to do something foolhardy, but once the car was back on the road what he said was simply, "It's a wooden building next to the bank. On the left."

Teyla breathed to calm her emotions. She wanted Sora to tell her _why_ she and her father had caused such harm to Athos and its people. Strangely, she felt it would be more comforting if their actions were out of malice, instead of simple expedience. She didn't like knowing that evil could be as arbitrarily brutal as epidemics of influenza or polio.

The building was easily to spot, painted gray with a simple sign to one side of the door. Ronon and Rodney went in; Ronon warned Teyla to stay put, but then added, "She knows your face." Teyla banked her irritation because she knew he was right. She didn't want Sora to get spooked and run, so she waited by the car, ready.

Barely a minute after Rodney and Ronon went in, Ronon dragged Sora out. She struggled in his grip, getting out half a cry for help before he shoved her up against the side of the car and knocked the wind from her lungs.

"Shut up," Ronon said, adjusting his hold so Sora's hands were pinned back. "I've got Army buddies in prison. I tell them to make your father's death slow and incredibly painful, they'd do that for me."

"You're foul," Sora said, and spat in Ronon's face.

He didn't say anything, just glared at her while the spittle left a wet trail down his cheek. Then he spoke, very softly, as if delivering bad news. "All we want is Kolya. You're bound for the cooler either way, but it'd look good if you cooperated. Especially since Kolya's the one who got your dad put away."

Sora went still. "If Radim told you that, he's a liar."

"Your father told me when I spoke with him," Teyla said. Sora startled and twisted; she'd been so occupied with Ronon that she hadn't seen Teyla standing there. "He told me to tell you, _The Lord showed signs and wonders, great and sore, upon Egypt, upon Pharaoh, and upon all his household, before our eyes: and he brought us out from thence, that he might bring us in, to give us the land which he swore unto our fathers._ " She tipped her head. "I don't know what he meant by that, but he had me commit it to memory."

Sora breathed harshly, as if furious with Teyla and struggling to find words suitable for her rage. Then she said, voice as raw as if she'd been screaming, "Kolya's at the farm. I'll take you there."

Teyla's shoulders slumped as tension she hadn't realized she'd been carrying gave way to a rush of anticipation. But she still had to ask. "What did he mean?"

Sora gave her a scornful smile. "A man named Cowen led us to this country," she said. "He betrayed us, and my father preached against him with that verse. Kolya killed him," she added. "I understood that – he was a traitor." She bit her lip and looked up at the sky, and then as Rodney came through the front door in a hurry, continued in a low voice, "Kolya's worse than Cowen. But I can't leave. None of us can."

Rodney making shooing motions with his hands to indicate that they needed to leave _now_ , and slid into the driver's seat, turning on the engine.

Ronon pushed Sora into the back and sat next to her, as tense as a wildcat readying to strike. Teyla got into the front, and had barely sat when Rodney shoved a map and a page of notes into her hands.

She wasn't inclined to trust Sora entirely, but apparently Rodney was even more suspicious. He'd interviewed the other operator and spoken with her supervisor. He had Sora's listed home address, telephone number, and a description of the tall man who drove Sora to work. He favored foreign, military-style dress, and Sora'd said he was her uncle. The operator had examined the picture of Sora and the man who'd attacked Rodney; a different guy, apparently. She said his name was Lanko – or something foreign like that – and that he'd been a rambler with one of the Happyland gangs until Sora's uncle straightened him out and gave him steady work on his farm.

No one was exactly sure what that farm produced. Turnips had been one guess, or maybe cabbage. No one particularly cared. There were a lot of farms around.

Sora gave half-hearted directions, which matched Rodney's notes for the most part. The road led towards the mountains, through a spare residential neighborhood: expensive-looking houses, Teyla thought. There was a bend in the road, with a small cluster of shops across from a prettily-landscaped park.

"Turn left at the ice cream parlor," Sora directed. There was a narrow lane that lead into the woods, and Rodney gamely brought the car around and started up the rough pavement.

"Milk and honey," Teyla murmured, and Sora gave a low surprised laugh.

"One of my father's jokes," she said. "Of course, when talking about the farm, our wealth isn't in literal milk, and the sweetness is for the mind, not the body."

Ronon broke his brooding silence to ask Sora for the layout of the farm and the farmhouse. She explained badly, and Teyla could tell Ronon's temper was fraying. He didn't care if the kitchen was painted yellow or sunny; he wanted to know where the windows and doors were, and who'd be likely to be there.

"No one during the day," Sora said, on the tail of an impatient sigh. "I'm at work, Kolya has meetings and business in the city, and any of our boys who are around take the workers and the dogs to the fields."

"But Kolya's at the house today," Rodney pointed out.

Sora sounded frustrated, as if having to explain the tediously obvious. "You think he tells me what his game is? All I know is he picked Sheppard up last night to have a talk, but I guess his proposal didn't go over well because Sheppard was in the hole this morning, and Kolya was steamed like I've never seen before."

"The hole," Ronon repeated flatly. "Where's that?"

"There's a locked room in the cellar," Sora said. "For when people need to cool off." She sounded diffident. Teyla took that to mean that she herself had never been locked in the hole.

The road bent nearly back on itself, and at the turn there was a clear view down to a hidden lake, clear and blue. Teyla thought it was a strange commentary on life that so close to such beauty, there could be such cruelty.

"I got to tell you something," Ronon said abruptly. "Sheppard'll kill me, but I guess that's mine to live with." He paused, and then said, "Sheppard's from a rich family, and when his dad died he inherited... a lot. On condition he never go back home again."

"I'm sorry," Teyla said, when Ronon seemed to be searching for words.

He snorted. "I'm not. He doesn't need them or their money. He's got me to watch out for him. But it turned out old Janus Weir had some debts that came due last year, and Mrs Weir was blindsided. So John gave me his blood money to pay them off, and now I'm part-owner, I guess. Elizabeth's teaching me stuff. And when Kolya finds out...." His voice trailed off.

"Then you give him everything if you have to," Rodney said, loud with conviction. "There are other pianos and other clubs, and Jesus, Elizabeth never said a _word_."

"I'm sure if she had you'd have given up bebop in a flash," Ronon said dryly. "Maybe cut a few popular swing records to make a few bucks."

Rodney shuddered, and the car swerved before he got control of the steering again.

Ronon told him to watch what he was doing, and then added, "We should split up. Sora and me, you and Teyla."

"Right." Rodney rolled the word out tightly, making it sound like he thought that was incredibly stupid. "The two people who want Kolya dead should team up, obviously."

Ronon huffed. "Spent years doing missions like this in the war. Your work with radar ever cover extracting a prisoner?" Rodney spread his fingers, as if conceding the point. "We go in the front, you take the back, and if you run into Teyla's friends hopefully they'll help out."

"The guys on the farm keep pretty quiet," Sora said. She didn't sound apologetic. "No one wants to bite the hand that feeds them."

Teyla refused to let her anger show. "We will see." She twisted around. "How close are we now?"

Sora looked out the front window as if confused. "Up ahead, where the woods open up, that's where the gate to the drive is. The fields are down by the lake." She waved her hand. "I go fishing nearly every morning. It's hard work feeding so many men."

Teyla nodded. "I'm sure it is." She touched Rodney's arm lightly to get his attention. "You should leave the car a ways from the house. Approaching on foot will be quieter."

"It's Elizabeth's car," he said, as if that mattered, and then straightened. "I suppose if anyone steals it, Ronon can buy her a new one."

"Knew I shouldn't have told you," Ronon said. "Pull over here, I'll get the gate." He was out of the car before Rodney had fully braked, and climbed back in once the car was through. He didn't bother doing the latch up again; Teyla supposed that would be useful, if they needed to make a swift getaway.

Rodney turned the car around before parking at the side of the driveway, obviously thinking the same thing. 

Ronon grabbed Sora as she emerged from the car, leaning in to whisper some threat that made her sneer at him and stalk ahead, her shoulders straight with the angry effort to ignore his presence behind her.

"Our turn," Rodney muttered, and pulled a gun out from his inside jacket pocket. He checked the safety and then the ammunition with rusty familiarity. "I haven't carried one of these for years," he said apologetically. "Since the war."

"I hope you don't need it," Teyla said, careful not to ask if he'd ever had cause to fire at a person, to wound or to kill. She herself had not, though since a young age Charin had taught her to hunt rabbits and birds. She waited until he secured the gun and then nodded sideways at the woods along the drive. "Follow me – we don't want to be seen."

A minute later she was biting her lip not to add _or be heard_ , but there was no point in telling Rodney to be quieter as they approached the side of the house, visible in glimpses through the trees. He didn't know how to walk quietly, or to avoid snapping twigs, or to not recoil from insects and spiders.

The men who came out of the shadows and followed them did.

Teyla grabbed Rodney's sleeve and tugged him after her, not letting him look back until they came out on the back garden, next to a long low woodshed. "We have company," she said tersely, and kept her grip strong until she felt him master his reflexive grab for the gun. "I know them."

She turned and waited, hands at her sides, chin raised. She had not seen them in months, but she could put a name to each just by the way they walked and carried themselves, despite how thin and ragged they were: barefoot, carrying knives, mouths obscured by beards.

"Doran," she said, and smiled. "Milo. Kanaan. It's Teyla. You remember me?"

Kanaan stepped forward. He had dark circles under his eyes, and even when he looked straight at her Teyla had the impression that he was distracted, his attention elsewhere. "You should go," he told her, and gestured with the hand holding the knife. "Why did you come?"

Teyla raised her hands, fingers spread wide, palms out, a gesture of peace. "I am afraid for you," she said simply. "We are old friends, and I wish you only well." She inclined her head towards Rodney. "Kolya has a man named John Sheppard here, and we've come to take him home, and you as well."

Kanaan shook his head. "You think Charin would welcome me, after – " he swallowed " – what I said? What I did?"

Teyla bit her lip. "Charin is dead," she said, and tried to show her sympathy with her eyes. Kanaan's expression became even more lost, and then hardened. "But I am here. I came all this way – " she stopped herself; now was a time to master her emotions, not be led by them. "Please."

"Kolya moved that guy to the barn," Kanaan said, staring Doran and Milo down defiantly. "Where the doc is."

Teyla nodded as if confident, though her head was in a whirl. She wished she had some way of contacting Ronon, of asking Sora who _the doc_ was. "It's good he's in the care of a doctor." Kanaan made a face in disagreement, and Teyla felt a chill. "Take us there." She tamped down her own impatience; they were wary, like frightened animals, and she had to go slowly, despite not knowing what was happening in the house. "Tyrus is in jail, and his daughter has turned on Kolya. The police will be here. There will be no more drugs, and Kolya's involved in a real estate deal that's going bad, and he's willing to _kill_ to protect himself. The time for inaction is _over_. You _must_ choose a side to be on – help me and the people Kolya's hurt – or be my enemy." She drew herself up to her full height and stared at each of them in turn.

"It's not that easy," Milo said. "We can't just... walk away."

"You can if you must." Teyla gave him an encouraging smile. "I did."

"Just to see the doctor," Kanaan said. "No promises."

Rodney broke his silence. "You have to help us get Sheppard free." He crossed his arms, stubborn. "If we can trust you, that is."

"Can you?" Kanaan asked flatly, and turned away, beckoning over his shoulder for them to follow.

"They are from my town," Teyla said to Rodney quickly, as she tugged him along, Milo and Doran fast on their heels. "We grew up together."

He just shook his head in reply.

The barn was halfway down the slope to the lake, at the terminus of the rutted, overgrown driveway. Like the farmhouse, it was old, and looked as if it had been neglected for years. Weather-worn, it listed to the right, and Teyla could see holes in the roof.

The wide double front doors were secured with a chain and padlock, but Kanaan led them around to a side door that faced the pump and trough.

Milo and Doran refused to go inside, looking spooked, but Kanaan seemed to think that was a good thing. He clapped Doran on the shoulder and leaned in, so close their foreheads nearly touched.

Go and bring the others," he said, holding Doran's gaze. "Like Halling talked about."

Doran swallowed hard, but gave a terse nod of agreement. He set off with Milo through a track in the underbrush, both of them holding their knives at ready.

Pulling the door open and leading the way inside, Kanaan walked unerringly past the rows of empty animal stalls, now filled with mysterious laboratory and cooking set-ups. In the far back there was one stall lit by a kerosene lantern hanging from a hook, and Kanaan knocked three times.

"Doc? You alone?"

"As usual, aye." There was a shuffling sound, the drag of a chain across floorboards, and then the door unlatched and was pushed aside. "Busy as Grand Central Station to – " His voice cut off as he caught sight of Teyla and Rodney. He looked panicked, and stared past them into the gloom. "Kolya?"

"Up at the house," Teyla said. "We think."

"We hope," Rodney corrected darkly. He in turn was looking into the stall, his face lighting with relief. "Sheppard!" Beyond the man blocking the doorway, there was a cot, and Teyla could make out the shock of John's wild hair on the man seated there.

"She's my friend," Kanaan said, sounding almost shy. "We're – it's time to leave."

"About Goddamn time," John said, voice rough and pained. "What took so long?"

"We did not know where you were," Teyla said, because Rodney looked outraged at how unfair that was. "Can you walk?"

"Not fast and not far," John said grimly, but he shoved to his feet. Despite the arm strapped across his chest and the pained way he held himself, gave Teyla a sharp fierce smile. "I'll be fine."

"He's got a badly wrenched knee, a bruised kidney, and just had his arm snapped like a twig," the doctor countered. "He needs medical care."

Teyla looked down at the heavy chains attached to bands around the doctor's ankles, and then over at the wall, where they were anchored. "Then come with us," she said. "It doesn't look like Kolya's a particular pal of yours, Mr – "

"Beckett." He rubbed his hands over untidy hair. "Lass, I can't go. You don't know the things I've done."

"Turned a lot of home-grown opium into, what, heroin?" Rodney asked, indicating the stalls behind them with a jerk of his head. "I'm perfectly willing to believe you're a terrible person, but I don't want to be responsible for Kolya shooting you in the head. Sing to the police, if you have to do penance."

Teyla slipped her steel needles down and caught them neatly. The bands around Beckett's ankles were hammered shut, but the chains were attached to the bands with locks, and she knelt to inspect them. Well-oiled and not rusted, a hefty weight in her hand. She hoped that meant he was occasionally allowed outdoors, and had not been kept captive for years. 

"Teyla?" Rodney asked, and then saw what she was doing. "So _that_ 's how you escaped the club."

"She's a regular Houdini." John limped over to watch Teyla work. "Break a lot of locks in your line of work?"

Teyla twisted her second needle around the first, manipulating the internal mechanism of the lock, and smiled as it _snick_ ed and fell open. She freed Beckett's left foot from the chains and started on the right.

"It's a useful skill to have," she told John, pointedly polite. "I can teach you, if you like." Slide, twist, turn, and the second lock also gave way. She rose to her feet and tucked her needles away, shaking her head to Beckett's stammered thanks. She turned to ask Kanaan to help them to the car, when there came three sharp, unmistakable shots, a pause just long enough to catch her breath, and then two answering retorts.

Without a word, she was outside and running for the house, hiking her skirt up and feeling the weeds whip against her legs.

"Wait," Rodney gasped out, close behind. Teyla slowed just enough to grab his hand, and then yanked him forward with her. "Dangerous," he blurted, squeezing her fingers tightly. "You should – "

"No." Teyla couldn't explain properly. She felt as though she had a responsibility; she was able to help, and she could not turn away.

"With you," Rodney said, sounding as though he was damping fear down with sheer stubbornness. Teyla squeezed his hand in answer.

The drive opened out onto the back yard, and the first thing Teyla saw was the blood, bright and wet in streaks on the back door where it stood open. She took a deep breath and ran faster, feeling exposed and vulnerable until she was close enough to be somewhat hidden by the shelter of the house's walls.

Slipping up the porch steps, Teyla kept out of the line of sight until she reached the door frame, and then peered inside. The kitchen was deserted, but there was more blood on the hallway floor, and she gestured for Rodney to follow her as she went in. From the front room, she heard a man's ragged, pained breathing.

"Show yourself," she called, crouching low and watching for movement, and added for good measure, "We have the house surrounded." She'd heard that said in a film once, and she felt ridiculous repeating the words. She wasn't some lantern-jawed American cop, and if the person inside was Ronon he'd probably laugh at her later. But she didn't know if he and Sora were injured; it was safer to assume that she was facing an enemy... possibly a murderer.

"You could come out with your hands up," Rodney called from behind her. Perhaps he'd seen the same film. "That would be convenient."

"Do I have the good fortune to be speaking in person to Mr McKay?" The voice from the front room was rough and deep, sounding pleased in a way that made the hair on Teyla's arms stand on end. "The ever-charming Miss Tyrus mentioned that you were here." His tone sharpened, suddenly cruel. "I have Sheppard's gunsel knocked out on the floor in here, and I'm more than willing to shoot him again. No more games. Give me Atlantis."

Rodney glanced at Teyla; he looked resolute, with his shoulders pulled back and his chin raised, as if courage came from good posture.

"I came here expressly to do that," Rodney called. "I'm not a soldier, Kolya, I never was. I surrender. Take what you want and just let us all go, and I promise I won't make any trouble." He paused. "I'll tell Mrs Weir the jig's up. She'll listen to me. I've got a car out front, we can go and get the papers all signed and have this done by dinner time."

Kolya laughed, short and harsh. "Forgive me for not trusting you in the least, but no. We stay here, and I'll send a man down to collect whatever you need."

Teyla gave Rodney a nod to get his attention, and then tilted her head towards the front room.

"You want me to stay?" Rodney looked confused; Teyla gave him the A-OK sign. "Sure, if you want. Let's settle this face to face," he went on gamely. "Like real men."

Teyla rolled her eyes at him; he didn't need to ham it up quite that much.

"Send the girl in first." Teyla had expected that, and lowered her palms to appease the indignation on Rodney's face. "And I have to warn you, I have very, very little tolerance for female wiles left in me right now."

Teyla hadn't liked Sora very much, but she hadn't wished her dead, and Kolya's callous menace made her feel anger on Sora's behalf.

"Please don't hurt me," Teyla called, and moved to the center of the corridor, careful not to step in any of the blood. She made her way forward, keeping her footfalls loud enough to telegraph her position. "I just came here to see my brother. I don't want any trouble."

"I don't care," Kolya said, impatient. "Stop there. You see this gun?"

Teyla turned her head slowly to the side. The first thing she saw was a man in a military-style suit, his shirt open at the neck, and his left shoulder stained dark with blood. His face had sharp lines of pain, and sweat was beading at his hairline. The hand aiming his pistol at her heart, however, was steady.

"Yes," Teyla said, holding everything she felt at bay so she could concentrate. "I see you." 

She surveyed the room quickly. Two windows in the front, one shattered; a fireplace to her right; five mismatched chairs, two of them tipped over. Mud on the floor and cobwebs in the corners, and a desk piled so high with boxes, cases, charts and correspondence that the telephone was nearly buried.

Deliberately, she let her eyes drop. Ronon lay on the bare floor of the front room in a twisted heap, like a puppet with cut strings. Teyla didn't see any blood beneath him, but she knew how many shots she'd heard.

"Miss Tyrus did the honors," Kolya said, drawing Teyla's gaze back as he nudged Ronon's side with one boot. "He stopped her from killing me, and I imagine she was angry about having her revenge thwarted – if he lives I'll owe him a life debt." He gave Teyla a tight, unpleasant smile. "I hate being in anyone's debt, so his life depends on how well you follow orders. Come here."

Teyla moved in the direction indicated by the jerk of the gun, and when she was in reach Kolya grabbed her and twisted her around. His fingers dug bruisingly hard into her arm, and he pressed the muzzle of the gun to her temple.

"Be a good girl," Kolya said, and then called, "Mr McKay, let's do business."

"I bet you've got a sweet deal lined up," Rodney said from the corridor, voice and footsteps carelessly loud. "Fighting urban blight the modern way, just like I keep reading in the newspaper. Razing tenements and eyesores, out with the old and in with the new." He walked into the front room as if distracted, and immediately focused on the desk. "Is that a violin case? Do you play?" he asked, taking three steps before Kolya's growl stopped his momentum. "I just wanted to take a look," Rodney said plaintively, as if denying him the opportunity was unfathomable. "I'm quite fond of the violin."

"Focus," Kolya snapped, and yanked Teyla along at his side as he made his way to the desk, carefully keeping distance from Rodney. "Pick up the phone and ask for the number I give you."

Rodney nodded, eyes wide in what Teyla didn't think was feigned terror. He reached for the receiver, but his shaking hands knocked a stack of ledgers over onto the floor instead, and Rodney dropped to collect them before Kolya had finished cursing.

"Leave them," Kolya ground out, and Rodney looked up, hands full. Kolya gestured with the gun, and in that second Teyla threw her arm over his, locking tightly before slamming her hips back into his groin and throwing her head back against his injured shoulder. Kolya roared with the pain, and Teyla felt him weaken, but not enough. Rodney had backed away quickly, which Teyla was grateful for – she still did not have the gun out of Kolya's grip – but Teyla suddenly noticed that Ronon was no longer on the floor.

In the next second Kolya was grabbed from behind, Ronon's blood-stained hunting knife pressed tight to his throat.

"Let her go and give her the gun," Ronon advised. Kolya was enraged and wild-eyed, but he did as he was told, and then it was a simple enough matter to bind him to a chair and call for the police and an ambulance.

Time passed oddly. Some moments Teyla felt very clearly. The embrace Rodney gave her once Kolya was secured was heartfelt and warmed her straight through; she was left weak-kneed with utter relief when Kanaan and the others dragged their Genii guards up to the house and put them in the hole. But other things slipped annoyingly out of focus. She was unsure of when the police arrived and what she told them, and confused by all the conversations whirling around her. Someone put a blanket around her shoulders, but she didn't know whom, and people kept appearing and disappearing. John and Ronon, she thought, were bound for the hospital, but she didn't know when Kolya was removed. She was afraid that her people would be taken off to prison as well, and grabbed Rodney by the arm when he passed by to ask what would become of them all.

"Oh," he said, and gave her a quick nod. "I explained the situation to Mrs Weir, and her lawyer is here to take care of everything." He waved the back of his hand towards a balding man in an impeccable suit. "The doctor – Beckett? – also insists on helping. Guilt, I suppose," he added. He rocked on his heels, hands shoved in his pockets. "Are you going back to – " he shrugged vaguely – "wherever it was, now that you've found your people?"

Teyla shook her head, too tired to make any decisions. "I don't know. Their families will want them home. But I have no family besides Kanaan." She gestured around at the police cars and wagons, the milling ranks of ragged men. Elizabeth's lawyer seemed to have the ear of the officer in charge, and was puffing amiably on a cigar as he spoke. "I never planned for what would happen next."

"Elizabeth said to tell you that she wants to give you a job," Rodney said abruptly. "You should definitely say yes. I would have been dead, without you, or John would have, or Ronon. Plus, Sora escaped, did you hear? She stole Elizabeth's car, but before that she recorded a message on my machine, vowing vengeance and being very dramatic about how she was single-handedly going to free the people of Genia. I gave the whole shebang to the police, and I hope there's enough evidence there to put her behind bars once she's caught, but until then, Elizabeth's a good person to know." Teyla's blanket was slipping, and Rodney reached out to adjust it automatically, only to realize what he was doing a moment later and flush. He went on, his tone aggravated, but Teyla interpreted it as embarrassment. "Elizabeth collects stray people. She doesn't think of it as pity, or charity – she just likes arranging people so they're more useful." He met Teyla's eyes, looking worried, and she gave him a nod to continue, as she had no idea how to respond. "She doesn't mean to be insulting. You probably didn't notice, but I'm one of the few people at Atlantis with a family, if my sister counts. Sheppard's been disowned or whatever, Ronon's whole hometown was wiped out in the war, my band-leader’s raising his kid brother after his mother died. We all stick up for each other," he concluded lamely. "And wow, I did not mean to make that into a whole speech."

"I need to see my people settled," Teyla said, slowly, her mind reluctant to expend the effort needed to think up a viable plan. "I'll need to confer with Dr Beckett and the lawyer, but I hope most of them can return to Athos. For myself... I don't think I can. I find city life suits me." She drew in a deep breath, looking around at the encroaching woods, shadowed even in daylight, and thought about the welcoming warmth of Atlantis' windows. "Are you also acting with the best intentions?"

Rodney snorted. "No. No, my motivations are terrible. I want to take you out to dinner and make you laugh, and sweep you off your feet with my cleverness. I want to play for you and dance with you, and I'm still not sure how to do both at the same time. It may involve breaking all natural laws. And of course it's incredibly selfish. But the bottom line is, I don't want you to go away. You fascinate me." He made a complex gesture with both hands. "It's not very often that a guy like me meets a girl like you."

"I would like to go dancing," Teyla said, and then realized that her mind was drifting again. "When this is all over, I would like all of that."

"Well." Rodney looked awestruck, as if he'd just been handed something precious. "It's a date, then."

Teyla smiled, and held out the hand that wasn't holding the blanket up. Rodney took it, and she laced their fingers together, leaning in towards his warmth.


	4. Epilogue

"Welcome home," Rodney called as Teyla stepped down from the train. When she made her way toward him, he beamed, and when she was in arms' reach he pulled her into an exuberant embrace. "I missed you," he said, voice muffled by her hair, like he was telling her a secret.

"And I you." She returned the hug with the hand not holding her satchel. "Alberta was very quiet."

"Boring," Rodney suggested, pulling back but still keeping his hands on her shoulders, eyes bright with happiness. His hat was askew; Teyla's probably was, too, and her dress was wrinkled from the long ride. She couldn't find it in her to care at all about what they must look like. "Tedious. Dull."

"My people were very grateful to have me there to help," Teyla told him, and handed him her bag to carry. "They are adjusting to normal lives again. Some better than others."

Rodney blinked, and then fumbled to follow her conversational cue. Teyla smiled, and started walking towards the station exit. "That's good. Excellent. I knew things would work out. I mean – John's buddy Carson went out with you, didn't he? He's probably glad to get out of the city and away from all the bad memories. And you wrote that Kanaan had found work with Mr – Mr Foyer."

"Halling," Teyla corrected. "He has been able to provide spiritual guidance to my people as well. They don't need my presence any more."

Rodney jostled her. On purpose, Teyla thought, amused. A tamer version of the rough-housing he did with John and Ronon.

"You can't tell me you _want_ them to depend on you forever, though. A certain amount of gratitude – well, that's only natural, you did move heaven and earth to rescue them. But I don't see you as the sort of person who'd enjoy becoming a dictator. Even a benevolent one."

"I miss having a purpose," Teyla said, sharply, because that should be obvious.

"Well, of course." They were outside on the pavement now, and Rodney took Teyla's arm to steer her through the milling crowd. "I understand _that_. There always comes a point for me when a piece of music's finished evolving in all the possible ways it can. It becomes complete. And then..." He shrugged and gave Teyla a wry glance. "I usually stomp around in a terrible temper. Or so I'm told. But then something new grabs me and forces me to bring it to life. Music is never-ending." At the corner, Rodney tugged Teyla across the street, where Elizabeth's car was parked. John had written that the car had been wrecked near the US border, and that he and Ronon were repairing it while recovering from their injuries. The car looked perfectly restored, and Teyla hoped John and Ronon were as well.

"So you think I need to find someone else to save," Teyla asked, her tone dry, raising her eyebrows as Rodney opened the door for her and held it while she settled on the seat.

"You're good at it," Rodney said. While he stowed her bag and walked around to the driver's side, Teyla marveled that he sounded matter-of-fact, neither trying to compliment nor insult. She found herself wanting to believe. "I've been to the movies," he added, as he sat next to her and started the engine, "and Philip Marlowe's got nothing on you." He gave her a sideways look, an odd mixture of sincerity and teasing. "Plus last I heard Sora was spotted in Saskatchewan. She's got machinations."

Teyla crossed her arms, more for show than actual irritation; she wanted him to take her words seriously. "I'm not a private eye, and she's not a femme fatale. Everyone's... just people, caught up in circumstances, and trying to survive. Some in better ways than others."

"I know that." Rodney pulled the car out, signaling left at the corner. "Plus, if this was a film I'd be Pauline, always getting tied to the railroad tracks or dropped out of dirigibles. I'd never get any important work done." He took one hand off the steering wheel to point in emphasis. "I tried to write a song about you, but it became a whole album's worth of songs, and that was before Kusanagi started improvising trumpet solos. Mrs Weir wants to hire you to find our former drummer, by the way – Sheppard promised his cousin we'd look out for the kid, and then he ran off to start his own band, and with the whole Genii thing, well... Anyway. You'll be seeing her soon enough."

"I promised Marie I'd help in her shop in exchange for a room to sleep in," Teyla said. "But... you helped me. It's only right that I help you find your missing people."

"Okay," Rodney said, sounding surprised, as if he'd expected her to argue, or say no. "Good," and then, "here we are," as he pulled the car up to the curb directly in front of Atlantis' entrance and parked it decisively.

Teyla remembered how beautiful the building was, but the last time she'd been here it had all been alien to her. She'd been wary of everyone and untrusting, and Atlantis had not been a place where she belonged.

Now she walked in the door and found herself almost immediately engulfed in a bear hug from Ronon, her feet leaving the ground as he spun her around, laughter bubbling up.

"You know she can beat you up, right?" Rodney grumbled, but he was grinning as well.

Ronon lowered Teyla carefully to the ground, and gave her a respectful nod. "Didn't want her worrying about me. Last time I saw her, I was still carrying around two bullets." He pulled at the chain around his neck, holding it out to display the twisted lumps of metal attached like pendants. "Tried to get the one I put in Kolya, but some idiot threw it out."

"Thank God for small mercies," Rodney said, and took Teyla's arm, ostentatiously leading her away. Ronon followed them anyway, up the stairs towards the sound of exuberant music. "This is kind of a welcome-home party," he said, leaning towards her. "And a token of our appreciation, et cetera et cetera. It was a good excuse to make a very large cake." He coughed. "Do you like cake?"

"I'm sure it will be delicious," Teyla assured him, and then had to tease. "You baked it yourself?"

Rodney spluttered for a moment, and Ronon slapped him on the shoulder.

"McKay likes you too much to inflict his cooking on you," Ronon said. Rodney half-turned to give him a betrayed look; Ronon shrugged, obviously unrepentant. "It's true."

"I wrote a song about him," Rodney said, conspiratorially. "I call it _The Thorn In My Side Is A Knife_."

"That's what I pay you for," Ronon said, and gave Teyla a nod as he walked away, heading towards the dance floor.

Not many of the people Teyla recognized were dancing; most of them were probably staff, she thought. Elizabeth and her lawyer were attempting a very stiff – not exactly _solid_ – jitterbug. John was sitting at a table with his legs stretched out in front of him, sipping on a Coke until Ronon stole it and finished it off, appearing not to mind – or notice – the punch John bounced off his leg.

Teyla took Rodney's hand and pulled him forward.

"I probably should have warned you," Rodney said, bracing his feet. "I'm not a very _good_ dancer."

Teyla gave him a look. "You will be with practice," she said, and waited.

He took a deep breath. "Well. If you put it that way."

At the edge of the dance floor, Teyla was surprised to hear her name called and be swept into another embrace, this time by Marie, who'd been among the dancers. "It's good to see you," Marie said, patting Teyla warmly on the back before stepping away. "I take it I won't be needing my hundred untraceable poisons?"

"I think not," Teyla said, and returned Marie's grin. "I will talk to you later?"

Marie nodded, and glanced over at Rodney mischievously. "I was promised cake," she said, and returned to her waiting partner.

"Our turn, then," Rodney said, and put a hand at Teyla's waist, almost as if he knew what he was doing.

They danced until Teyla was exhausted, equally from laughter and exertion. High above them, the chandeliers shone like stars; the stained glass windows let in the warm afternoon glow. All around them the music was like a living spirit, unpredictable and complex, leading them on a journey but in the final sweeping notes bringing them inevitably back, to Atlantis, to home.


End file.
